


Five Times House Told Stacy He Loved Her, and One Time He Didn't

by zulu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 08-10, 5 Things, F/M, for:cryptictac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-01
Updated: 2008-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times House told Stacy he loved her, and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times House Told Stacy He Loved Her, and One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to shutterbug_12 for the beta.

i. _the first time_

He was lost the moment he slid inside of her. Stacy wrapped her leg around his, and her hand stroked down his back, pulling him even closer. Greg let his eyes flutter closed as he dropped his head forward. Stacy's breath was a warm puff against his cheek, and then she turned just enough that their mouths met. Greg could barely concentrate on anything more than the feel of her body, surrounding him, her hands and her legs holding him so tightly against her.

God. God, he couldn't believe how _good_ this felt. He tried to remember how long they'd been together. Some days it seemed like he'd barely met her. Right now, he couldn't imagine not knowing her, not having her, not doing _this_. He kissed her again, keeping his body still, focusing entirely on tasting her, on answering her every move with his own. With a slow thrust, he moved deeper, and then paused again to enjoy the soft touches of her hands on his shoulders and back. He watched her mouth open around a gasp, and his chest tightened at the expression on her face when she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Her eyes were so dark in the shadows that they looked nearly liquid. Every part of her was so damn beautiful.

"Greg..." Stacy lifted her hips to meet him, encouraging him. _Wanting_ him.

He let out his breath in a rush of air. The sound of Stacy's voice, her pleading tone, destroyed his control every time. He shuddered and thrust again. The first time, their first time, had been slow at first, cautious, but they'd both been overcome before long and it had ended far too quickly. The next week--he let out a nearly-silent laugh, remembering--had been frantic, a roughhouse. Nowhere was safe; he couldn't keep his hands _off_ her. Now, though, he loved taking his time, exploring her body, bringing his name to her lips, making her come for him, because of him. It was almost a surprise that she felt the same.

Stacy's lips curved, and she brought one palm to the side of his face, brushing his mouth with her thumb. "What are you laughing at?"

"Frustrating you," Greg answered immediately. He wasn't going to admit how much she'd invaded his life, his thoughts, everything. She had to know. She couldn't be looking at him like that, her body quivering underneath his, so open that he felt like he could read her mind, if she didn't.

"Oh, really?"

Greg grinned. "Yeah," he breathed, and forced himself to stay still, kissing her thumb briefly. He'd learned that tone of voice, too--the teasing way Stacy never let any remark pass unchallenged. She could turn the tables on him in an instant, and he enjoyed every second of it. His heart was already racing in anticipation. "What are you going to do about it?"

"This," she answered, and she tightened her muscles around his erection, _squeezing_, oh _fuck_. He groaned harshly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The sensation slammed through him like he was in freefall, his stomach clenching. The incredible heat caught him completely by surprise. His whole body trembled. No one else had ever done this to him before. _He'd_ never done this before, cared so much. He rocked into her, harder, starting a rhythm, one hand holding him up, the other caressing Stacy's breast and then stroking down to her hip.

Stacy moaned against his neck, the sound buzzing against his skin, and she met his every thrust, squirming beneath him, her little breathless whimpers building as he drove into her. He knew she was close, and he wanted her to know how much he loved that, loved how this _felt_. The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "God, I--love you--"

"_Oh_," she whispered, sounding as close to orgasm as he'd ever heard her, and he wondered--hoped--that she hadn't heard him, that he was still _safe_. But then her fingers twined in his hair and she was kissing him so hard, so desperately. He felt her come, the flutter of her muscles, the clutch of her arms and legs around him, and he couldn't do anything except let go and give her everything, moving with her, _coming_ with her. Pleasure leaped to the surface of his skin, rolled through his muscles. He'd never felt anything so intense before, terrified and helpless and perfect.

Afterward, he collapsed to his side, trying not to crush her but not drawing out of her either. He kissed her throat, slowly, avoiding meeting her eyes. Wished he could just fall asleep and pretend he hadn't said anything. He finally rolled away, wondering why she hadn't said anything, if she was just going to let his words pass. He turned his head on his pillow, staring across the room.

"Hey," she said, turning his face back towards her. She smiled, tremulously, and he swallowed, his gaze darting across her face. He couldn't say anything, and his heart was still drumming crazily in his chest.

Stacy leaned over and kissed him, slowly, lingering. "I love you too," she said, and Greg closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of her fingertips, her kiss; in _her_.

 

ii. _the twelfth time_

Greg frowned ferociously. The odds were against him and the situation was grim. He was being beaten to a pulp and no matter what he tried, no matter how he tried to guard himself, he was against the ropes and on the run.

Stacy was _winning_ at Mortal Kombat.

"When the hell have you been _practicing_?" he demanded--it _wasn't_ a yelp. His hands were actually sweating, making the controller slippery, and no matter what resistance he put up, she was slipping right through it. Body-slams, punches, whirling attacks--he was barely holding his own.

"Oh, here and there," Stacy answered. She didn't take her eyes from the television for a second, and her thumbs were moving with perfect precision. "Did you know they write books on how to do this?"

"You read a _book_?" That was cheating. It had to be cheating. There was no way she'd gone from button-mashing and half-hearted enthusiasm to this indestructible, infuriating _killing machine_ just from reading a damn _book_.

"And there were those five _days_ last week that the only words I could get out of you and understand were 'unexplained kidney failure'."

"Oh, so you've been _metaphorically_ handing me my ass," he said. "Was wondering why you weren't more _pissy_. That was a _life_ at stake--"

"Ha!" Stacy said, and Greg rolled his eyes--he couldn't tell if that had been a refutation of his _awesome_ diagnosis and treatment plan, or just triumph over the fact that she'd just flown halfway across the screen to slam both her feet into his character's sternum, knocking him to the ground in an explosion of pixellated blood.

FINISH HIM, the screen demanded. His health was pulsing in the red, a klaxon blaring at him, and Stacy was moving in for the kill, her character striding across the screen with her fists at the ready. She knew all the special attacks. Hell, she seemed to know some esoteric combinations that the makers of Mortal Kombat hadn't even programmed into the goddamn _game_. He was going to end up KO'd on the ground before he'd even swept her legs out from under her. This was _not_ happening. Stronger tactics were called for.

Greg dropped his controller to his lap and turned towards her. Stacy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, suspicious, but he only stared at her solemnly. "I love you," he said, with every ounce of sincerity he could muster.

Stacy's mouth dropped open, her hands stilling, astonishment suffusing her expression. Greg held her gaze and swallowed. He was telling the truth--even if he did have an ulterior motive--and the way she looked at him made him feel ten feet tall and scared silly at the same time. "Oh, Greg..."

In an instant, Greg picked up the controller and was gleefully pummeling Stacy's character, feet and fists flying until her health meter was drained almost completely. Stacy gaped at him, and then belatedly reached for her controller, but he was already inside her defenses, using every combo he knew, and three seconds later he'd laid her out and the game declared PLAYER ONE WINS. "Yes!"

Stacy let her controller fall and smacked his shoulder. "Oh, you _jerk_!" She didn't stop there, either, but launched herself at him, smacking him again and then going for his ribs with her fingers. "You are such a _jerk_."

"You're a sore loser," he laughed, trying to fend off her tickling. He was already laughing too hard, though, and then she poked him in the ribs and he was giggling helplessly, bent over her and trying to push her hands away.

"I am _not_ a sore loser, you're--you--" She was nearly sputtering with indignation, and he laughed even harder. "I can't believe you just--"

"Suckered you?" Greg grabbed for her and hauled her on to his lap, the only way he could get her close enough to catch her hands and stop her. "Showed how gullible you are?"

Stacy bent her head, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "Are such a _romantic_," she said. "Should I be expecting roses the next time I beat you?"

"Only if you beat me just right," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. And then, because she was still laughing, he tugged her closer and kissed her.

Stacy hummed against his lips, her eyes sparkling. "Jerk," she whispered again, with her gorgeous, heart-stopping smile.

"Just the way you like me," he answered, and grinned up at her when she bent to kiss him again.

 

iii. _the time he remembers_

The moment Stacy walked in the door, Greg grinned and bounded off the couch. She was talking on the phone, spouting legalese and frowning. The look of relief on her face when she kicked off her heels was an excellent sign. The way she rolled her eyes at him and nodded with the phone was an even better one--whoever was on the other end was dancing on her last nerve. Soon, she'd hang up, and he could have her all to himself. He let her dump her coat in his arms. He even hung it up in the closet. But when she wandered away from him, towards the bedroom, still carrying her purse and briefcase, he frowned after her.

Greg caught up with her in the hall and jerked the phone out of her hand. "Yeah, she'll call you back," he said, and flipped it closed, grinning and holding it out of her reach in case she tried to get it back. "I have _tickets_," he told her.

Stacy's tired expression iced over into a glare. "Greg! That was a _client_\--"

"_Monster_ truck tickets," he said, talking right over her. Work, on a Friday night, was strictly forbidden. His plans were so much better than watching her give herself a headache tying herself in knots for her firm's benefit. "Predator versus Crusher. Have you seen my foam finger?"

"Give me the phone," she said, holding out her hand as if she expected him to just give in. Greg rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. He was about to propose a prisoner exchange--he was sure she'd hidden his beer-can hat along with the foam finger--when her lips tightened and she spun away from him, going for the cordless phone in the kitchen.

"Hey!" he said, but she was already dialing. He didn't want to take the phone from her twice--he knew there were limits to what she'd take from him--but she'd come in without even saying _hello_. "I was _saving_ you."

"Yes, hello, I'm sorry we were cut off," Stacy said into the phone, turning her back on him. "If we could just finalize the schedule for the depositions..."

Greg watched her from the doorway, getting more disgusted by the minute. Finally he went and threw himself on the couch, turning on the TV just short of obnoxiously loud. The monster truck tickets hadn't been cheap, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to be enjoying them tonight. All _week_ he'd been thinking about surprising her, then getting her dressed down in one of his t-shirts and the jeans that hugged her ass _perfectly_, then buying her beer and pretzels and kissing her to taste the cotton candy melting on her tongue. Instead, she was taking _forever_ on the goddamn phone.

When she walked into the room, her arms folded across her chest, he muttered rebelliously, "Are you done _yet_?"

"That was incredibly rude, even for you," she said tightly.

Greg tipped his head back against the couch cushions. "Don't you mean 'uncalled for'?" he asked brightly.

Stacy's glare grew even more furious. "That phone call was _important_. Now I'm going to be spending all of next week doing damage control--"

"Yeah, well, when it's _actually_ a case of life or death, let me know," he said. "Doctor here. I know important phone calls." He sighed heavily and stood up, reaching for her. "Come on, Stace. I--"

"Don't. Don't try holding that over me, as if my work isn't important." Stacy shoved him back. "Not everything is about _your_ entertainment." With one last shake of her head, she turned on her heel and headed for the bedroom.

He watched her go, feeling angry without any direction to lash out in. So he'd been thinking of himself--he'd been thinking of her, too. She needed to relax, and he'd gotten something that, yeah, mostly he'd enjoy, but he knew she'd have a good time, too. Of course her work was important. He _knew_ that.

He gritted his teeth, staring at the floor. He sucked at this sort of thing. Being wrong--but especially admitting it. He pushed himself to his feet and headed to the bedroom, hesitating at the door. Stacy wasn't doing anything in particular, just sitting on the bed, and her gaze was still icy when she looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he said shortly.

"_Don't_ do that to me again, Greg."

He nodded, pushing down the part of him that wanted to protest. "You okay?"

She let out a breath and shook her head slightly. "No. I'm angry."

So he wasn't forgiven. He turned away, intending to go back to watch TV until...he didn't know when. At least until she fell asleep. They'd had these detentes before, but that didn't make them any easier. But Stacy stood up and caught his hand. "Just stop and _think_, next time."

"How likely is that?" he asked, with a hint of a smile. He squeezed her hand and pulled her gently, until he could wrap his arms around her. "I love you," he said quietly, the words muffled by her hair. Stacy nodded, and he felt some of the tension drain out of her. He cupped her head against his chest, then stroked his hands down her back. She swayed closer to him, and he didn't try to hold her, just to touch her, feel the warmth of her body and the tired sigh of her breath. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her shampoo, the fainter hint of perfume. Everything about her was familiar, and more than welcome.

"Guess you don't want to go watch monster trucks," he said, without much hope. They'd only miss the warm-up motocross race if they left soon.

Stacy snorted lightly. "No."

"Okay," he said softly, giving up thoughts of watching two motorcyclists doing perpendicular three-sixties in the Cage Of Death.

After all, there were more important things.

 

iv. _the time she remembers_

After the phone call, Stacy arranged for the plane tickets. She booked time off work. Greg used the phone after her, his voice terse and low in the living room. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. She half-listened to his tone and missed his words. She couldn't remember why she'd come into the bathroom in the first place. When Greg appeared in the mirror behind her, Stacy shook her head and swallowed and reminded herself of everything else she had to do.

She packed for both of them, their toiletries and underwear and some casual clothes in a suitcase. She didn't know which dress to pick. Her fingers hesitated again and again on the fabric of the one she finally settled on, before it joined Greg's suit and tie in a garment bag.

Greg called the taxi and paid when they reached the airport. On the plane, he took the aisle seat, ushering her ahead of him to the window seat. Stacy watched the ground crew waving the plane out with neon paddles. The roads grew faint and insignificant as they took off. Soon they were isolated in a white-grey mass of clouds.

There was another taxi in Atlanta. Stacy climbed out of the backseat, staring at the house. Her dad met them on the porch, and Stacy found herself in his arms, hugging as hard as she could. She smelled his cologne and the hint of smoke in his sweater. His chest was shaking. Greg smiled tightly and shrugged off shaking hands; he was carrying their luggage.

They slept in Stacy's room. It wasn't any more--it was the guest room--but there were hints of high school, books on the shelves and a few framed pictures. Stacy sat on the bed, running her fingers over the new comforter, one she couldn't remember. Greg paced, unpacked, studied every picture and every corner of the room. He opened his mouth to tease, and then shut it again.

The next day was stifling. Stacy felt like she was somewhere she'd never been, lost and terrified of admitting it. She fumbled for the tissues she'd brought to the church; her mascara was already a mess. During the prayer, Greg pulled her roughly against him in the pew, and Stacy buried her face against his chest. She was certain it would never be over, but then they were outside, caught up in hugs and words and flowers.

There was food back home, too much of it. Everybody walked through the living room with their shoes on. Afterward, Greg did the dishes beside her, drying everything she washed.

When they went to bed, Greg folded her in his arms, his mouth next to her ear, his legs twined with hers. She was naked; he was only wearing boxers. His arm was heavy across her waist, holding her as if she might escape if he let go. She couldn't breathe; suddenly she was crying, trying desperately not to make a sound--she might wake up her dad, asleep in the next room. Tears clogged her throat, burned her eyes, and she couldn't stop, couldn't _stop_.

Greg held her, rocked her against him. "Stacy," he said. "Stace. I'm sorry. I love you."

She reached for his hand, twining their fingers together and squeezing hard. She listened to his voice until she'd cried herself out and, finally, slept.

 

v. _the time they both forgot_

"God, that idiot Harrison is going to pay."

Stacy barely looked up when Greg bounded into the kitchen. She was working at the table, the only place in the apartment not too covered in his junk that she could properly spread out everything she was trying to organize. "Yes, honey, I know." He'd been going on about Harrison for the past week and a half. After tonight, _hope_fully, the subject would be dropped, at least until the next time the man acted like an idiot and Greg felt honour-bound to gloat about it.

Greg waved a water bottle before filling it at the sink. "I can't believe I suckered him into this bet--"

"You were very clever," Stacy agreed absently. She couldn't find the Sampson file, but she was certain she hadn't left it at the office. It wouldn't help in the least to ask if Greg had seen it. Inviting him to have an opinion would probably just make the state of her organization even worse, as he searched through every file for what he called 'the juicy details'.

"Fiendishly clever," Greg corrected. "What do you want to do with my ill-gotten gains?"

Stacy resisted rolling her eyes and stared at him flatly. "I want to build a sound-proof bubble in which I can get my _work_ done."

He only grinned. "Spoilsport. It's a beautiful day. You should come with us."

"And be a literal fifth wheel."

"And be my bikini-clad mascot." He leered at her, letting his eyes travel over her body. Stacy laughed quietly. She was wearing shorts and a tank top without a bra in concession to the heat, and Greg had been sneaking admiring glances all day. He raised his eyebrows and moved closer, brushing one hand, still wet from filling the water bottle, down her back. "Handing me martinis every time I shove Harrison's incompetence in his face."

Stacy shivered, but the water dripping across her skin did feel good. "I think my bikini's in the shop," she teased.

Greg wrapped his arms around her from behind, nosing her hair aside and placing an open-mouthed kiss against her throat, tracing his tongue against her skin and trailing up to her earlobe. "Remind me to go with you when you pick it up."

"Oh, let me think about that." Stacy mock-glared up at him, trying to hide her smile. "_No_."

"Fine. I'll take it off when you get home. Slowly. With my teeth."

Stacy leaned back and sighed, tilting her head to give him better access for his kisses. God, that sounded good. If she could just get this work done, then she'd be up for anything he suggested. She didn't want to make it _too_ easy on him, though. "You can take me out to dinner," she said. "Some place nice. _If_ you win the bet."

He backed off slightly, but she could feel the slight scrape of his chin against her neck. "'Nice' translates as tie-wearing torture."

Stacy let out a hum. There were never enough opportunities for her to admire him all dressed up. "I promise I'll put out afterwards," she said in a low tone, her voice softening.

"Wear the red dress?" Greg whispered. His hands ran down her back, then one hand reached under her arm to cup her breast.

A happy sigh escaped her mouth. She wasn't going to give in. She couldn't. Neither of them would get anything done for the rest of the day--which sounded like bliss--but then she'd still have the work ahead of her and Greg would continue to whine about Harrison. "Only if I haven't been fired for negligence by then," she said. "Go on, get _out_ of here."

"Mmm." Greg's fingers slipped across her nipple and he kissed her again. "You want me to stay."

"I _want_ you--Greg!--to stop _distracting_ me." Stacy shrugged him off, holding firm despite the traitorous desire warming her stomach and thighs.

"Fine." Greg crossed the kitchen, tossed his water bottle in his backpack and slung the pack over his shoulder. He picked up his putter and pointed it at her. "I am going to have a day of golf and triumph in the gorgeous weather and _you_ will be stuck in here ruining your eyesight over a contract that nobody's going to read anyway."

And she _wasn't_ going to get embroiled in a four-hour lecture on contract law. "Good_bye_."

Greg shoved the putter in with the rest of his clubs, pouting studiously. "I'm finding a new girlfriend at the golf course and taking _her_ out for wings and beer."

"I hope you'll be very happy together."

"I'm _go_ing."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "Good."

With a huffy sigh, Greg left, the door closing behind him in an echo of his snit. Stacy stretched, turned off her cell, and took the phone off the hook. For the rest of the day she wasn't going to think about him even once. She shook her head and smiled helplessly. She wasn't even fooling herself. _Tonight_, she thought, anticipating, and then set herself down to her work.

 

vi. _the last time_

The bedroom was hot and stuffy. The sheets on the bed hadn't been changed recently enough, and they smelled of stale sweat.

Stacy sat on the bed, thinking she should change the sheets.

She couldn't remember the last time Greg had slept through the night. She couldn't remember the last time _she_ had. Every time he moved, she started out of a light doze and tried to help. Every time, he snapped at her, told her that no matter what she did it was the wrong decision, so just leave him the fuck alone.

Stacy got to her feet. The apartment felt suddenly vast, like she was moving through time as well as space, each step taking longer than it should.

In the living room, Greg sat sideways on the couch, his back propped up by pillows, his leg cushioned on another one. There was a glass of water and the orange plastic pill bottle beside him. When she came into the room, he actually looked away from the television, ignoring the histrionics of some soap opera starlet. Stacy tried to swallow, but her throat ached, paralyzed. Greg was unshaven, and there was a hint of grey in his stubble that hadn't been there before. His eyes were dark and hollow from the weight he'd lost. She'd always loved his eyes, the way he watched her, the way he could make her feel like the center of the universe just by looking at her.

She went past him, turning her face away. At the door, she wet her lips before speaking. "James is coming over later."

Nothing. No answer. Stacy shook her head and reached for her keys, her purse, her shoes. She'd delayed too often, always hoping something would change. By now, she should know better. She opened the door.

"Stacy." She heard him shift; maybe she only imagined that she heard him swallow. "I love you."

No. No. Not now.

He'd never believed that words had that kind of power. How could he possibly believe that this would be enough, that she'd reverse every decision, that everything else they'd put each other through could be erased that easily? She squeezed her eyes closed, felt the blink of tears fall to her cheeks. She nodded. She didn't want to cry in front of him; she _hated_ him for making this so hard.

"I know," she said, when the door was closed behind her. She bit her lip, focusing on that pain instead of the crush under her breastbone. "I love you too."


End file.
